Richard left work early the next day. And the day after that.
At two o'clock precisely, he rose from his desk, gathered his coat and said to Wendy, "I will be heading off now."
She blinked at him as though he had announced he'd be moving to Bali.
"Of course, sir. Shall I cancel your three o'clock?"
"Yes. Clear my afternoon." He cleared his throat, gaze flicking to the window.
"I will see you tomorrow."
Wendy nodded with the solemn gravity of someone witnessing a rare phenomenon.
"Very good."
He offered no explanation. He simply walked out of the office and into the crisp afternoon air, carrying with him a faint, unfamiliar thrill at breaking his own routine.
By Friday his driver no longer needed directions. Richmond had become the main event of his days, as though someone had shifted his compass without asking.
The nearer they drew, the calmer his pulse became. It felt like anticipation wrapped in certainty, a peaceful kind of knowing.
The car stopped outside Robert and Isabelle's house just as Helene stepped into the sunlight, pushing the pram. Her scarf was tucked neatly beneath her coat and the low winter sun gave her hair a sheen the colour of hazelnuts.
She looked up as he approached, her face melting quickly into a warm smile.
"Richard. How lovely to see you. Will you walk with me?"
"If you will have me," he replied, hoping it sounded light rather than revealing the truth, which was something closer to relief.
"You are always welcome. It's time to collect Becca and Luke."
"Perfect."
They fell into step. Michael gurgled from beneath his blanket, sending small puffs of breath into the cold air.
Their conversation found its rhythm easily.
"How was work?" she asked.
"Steady," he said. "Quiet."
"Quiet sounds suspicious," she teased.
He smiled like a child holding a present. "Quiet because I left early."
"I see." She gave him a knowing look. "You're becoming a part-timer at this rate."
He let out a soft laugh. "Please don't tell the board."
The breeze tugged at her scarf. "I'm glad you're here. Afternoons are always easier with an extra pair of hands to stop Luke climbing every tree in Richmond."
"I'll try to keep him grounded."
At the school gates the children poured out in a wave of noise and movement. Helene gestured to the pram.
"I'll be five minutes."
"Of course. Take your time."
She slipped inside. Richard rested a hand on the pram handle and listened to the swirl of children's voices. The sound stirred something bittersweet within him.
Luke came racing out first, shouting his name with delight.
"Richard, you're here!"
Becca appeared behind him, her hair wild, coat flapping, and she took Richard's hand without hesitation.
"We are going to the park," she declared.
"Oh?" he asked, amused.
Helene caught up, slightly breathless. "Yes. They love it there and a little fresh air is good for them."
As they walked, Luke bounced beside Richard, launching into a dramatic account of his day.
"And I painted a dragon and Mrs Harris said it looked frightening but I did not mean for it to look frightening and she said that made it even better."
"That's very impressive," Richard replied with seriousness.
Becca chimed in. "I read two books today. Well, one and a half. But almost two."
"I'm very proud of you," he said, and the warmth in his voice was real.
At the park, the children bolted for the climbing frame. Richard and Helene stood side by side, watching.
For a moment, neither spoke. The quiet between them felt companionable.
"I missed so much when my children were small," he said softly. "I should have spent more time with them."
Helene's expression warmed. "You can't rewrite the past. You can only be better now."
"I was always working," he admitted. "I kept saying it was for them."
"Perhaps it was," she said. "Most parents do their best with what they know. We can't undo our mistakes, but we can grow from them."
He glanced at her. Her voice carried no judgement, only truth.
"What would you change?" he asked.
She gave a quiet laugh. "Me? I would change everything."
"You would?" He asked, surprised. "You seem so content. So steady."
"I am now. But I made a great many mistakes along the way."
"But you seem so…"
"So what?"
"Capable," he said. "Calm. As though nothing ever rattles you."
"Oh, plenty of things rattle me," she said. "I have had a lot of practice at staying calm."
He nodded, thoughtful. Something inside him eased at her honesty.
After a pause, he asked, "Did you ever have a relationship after Isabelle's father died?"
"No," she said gently. "Isabelle needed me. Later her children needed me. It never felt right to put myself first."
He watched her carefully, moved by the quiet strength in every word. They stood together in the soft wind, the children's laughter drifting toward them.
When the wind turned colder, they headed home. Halfway there, Richard slowed.
"Would you all like to stop for something to eat?" he asked. "There is a café nearby."
Helene raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling. "Spontaneous today, are we?"
He shrugged. "I can be."
Becca and Luke immediately brightened.
"Chips?" Luke asked.
"Possibly," Richard replied.
"Fish fingers too?" Becca added.
"My favourite." He responded with a grin.
They walked to the café and settled at a corner table. The children swung their legs under their chairs, full of enthusiasm.
Luke pointed at a toy on the counter. "That dinosaur has my name."
"It is labelled Lucky," Helene corrected.
"But if you say it fast, it sounds like Luke."
Richard bit back a smile. "He isn't entirely wrong."
Helene gave him a look, but he could tell she was trying to suppress a smile. "Please don't encourage him."
"I seem unable to help myself."
The children's food arrived, steaming plates of fish fingers, chips and peas. Richard ordered tea for himself and for Helene.
The café glowed with the late afternoon light. Luke launched into a story about a heroic playground rescue.
"You saved the whole class?" Helene asked.
"Yes. With my shield."
"What was your shield?"
He paused to think. "My lunchbox."
Richard's quiet laugh warmed the air. Helene's eyes met his, and the moment stretched in a way that felt strangely intimate.
Later, back at the house, the children settled with their bricks and cars. Richard helped feed Michael while Helene sat cross-legged on the floor with the others.
They moved around one another with a natural ease, as though they had been doing this for years instead of days.
When Helene rose to put Michael down for a nap, she said, "I won't be long."
"Of course," he replied, handing the baby to her.
Their fingers brushed. Brief. Barely a moment. Yet it stayed with him.
She did not mention it. Neither did he.
He left just before six, promising the children he would see them again soon.
That evening, after dinner with his own children, something tugged at him. Warm, insistent, restless.
He sat staring at his phone for a long moment before typing.
I just wanted to say I enjoy your company. Talking to you feels easy.
He hesitated a moment. Then sent it.
A minute passed. Then two.
Her reply appeared.
I enjoy talking to you as well. It is nice. Familiar, in a way.
He exhaled slowly.
I miss having someone to talk to at the end of the day.
A pause followed before she answered.
I understand. I adore the children, but after a whole day of drawings and bricks, I sometimes crave grown up conversation.
He smiled at the screen.
You deserve that. Someone to listen. Someone who sees you.
So do you.
They spent an hour exchanging messages. The topics drifted from recipes to London traffic to Luke's dragon. The conversation felt effortless, easy, comforting.
When they finally said goodnight, Richard set his phone down with quiet certainty.
He knew what he wanted.
He would not rush. He would not disrupt her life or the children's.
But once Isabelle and Robert returned, he would ask Helene out.
A full day together. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere beautiful.
He did not yet know what she would say.
But for the first time in a long time, the future felt like something he might welcome.
And for now, that was enough.